


In the Simple Quiet

by MeadowHarvest



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Introspection, M/M, Spaghetti and Wine, cottage, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26093263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeadowHarvest/pseuds/MeadowHarvest
Summary: Patrick brings David to his childhood cottage and they spend a lovely 24 hours there.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 31
Kudos: 158





	In the Simple Quiet

Around the last ten or so minutes of their trip is when David starts noticing that Patrick’s glances are increasing in frequency. The roads are getting bumpier, which means Patrick really should be watching where he’s going, but instead, he keeps shooting David happy looks and wide grins. David recognizes this look; it’s the same look that David himself gets when there’s burrata on a menu or when he catches a flash sale before it’s over.

“We’ll start to lose cell service any moment now,” says Patrick, and David can confirm it already. 

His final text was a check-in from Jocelyn. For whatever reason, their dog’s favorite person in the world is Roland Jr. (David’s convinced it’s due to the amount of food that child can drop), so they decided to let Mona have a sleepover at the Schitts’ house. David’s looking forward to a selfish weekend of not having to take care of any creature but himself and sometimes his husband. 

  
“It’s just up ahead here,” says Patrick, turning onto a dirt road lined with trees. The car jostles and David wonders if they’re going to fall out, but Patrick drives like he’s done this dozens of times, which, to be fair, he probably has.    
  
The trees thin out a bit, and then David can see the sparkle of water as the house comes into view. Patrick makes a satisfied noise, almost involuntarily. David appreciates the weak autumn sun glinting off the lake and through the colorful leaves on the trees. The cottage itself isn’t anything remarkable, but Patrick is gazing at it like it’s a palace, and David loves that.

They get out of the car and David takes a deep breath. The scent of fall is one of his favorites; if he could bottle it up and sell it in the store, he would, and he'd charge a premium for it. 

Patrick doesn’t even bother grabbing any of their bags out of the car. Instead, he’s already at the door, unlocking it and beckoning David inside. 

  
“Here it is,” says Patrick, watching David’s face as David looks around. His heart melts. 

This place looks Patrick: cozy, warm, comfortable. They’ve entered through the kitchen door and David takes in all the details of the vintage-tinged kitchen. There’s a chalkboard next to him, with the label of a hardware store on it, and on it someone has written  _ Andersonville: Established 1954. Population: 36 _ . 

“Andersonville?” asks David. 

Patrick grins. “Yeah, it’s what my grandparents have always called this place. Everyone in town knows my mom and her sisters as the Anderson Girls. I just tell people I’m Marcy Anderson’s boy, and everyone knows who I am.”

“Patrick Anderson Brewer,” says David, his smile matching Patrick’s.

“Not to be confused with my cousin Andrew, or my other cousin’s son Anderson,” Patrick says. 

David shakes his head, still smiling. “Population 36?” he asks.    
  
“Yeah, they changed the number when Cecily was born last year,” Patrick said. “I haven’t been here since it was 35. No, 34. Ryleigh wasn’t born yet either.” 

His smile falters, and David’s heart breaks a little. He knows it’s been hard on Patrick to have pulled away from his family for the past few years. He pulls Patrick into a hug, wrapping his arms around him. 

“We’ve got some lost time to make up for,” Patrick says, squeezing David back before releasing him. “I can’t wait to show you around.”

They move from the spotless kitchen out into the living area, which has two old couches, knotty pine walls and huge windows facing the lake. There’s a woodstove in the corner and a wooden shelf with old books and board games wedged in haphazardly. 

“We can have our pick of the bedrooms,” says Patrick, and David sees two bedrooms on each side of the living room. 

He peeks into the nearest one. “Um. Can we have one without a crib?” he asks. “They’re the opposite of sexy.”

Patrick looks into the room next to it. “This one only has a pack-n-play.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds kinky,” says David, and Patrick grins. 

“You’re going to be severely disappointed, David,” he says.

He’s back out into the living room again, and David marvels at the way he’s moving. Patrick is usually so deliberate with each movement that it’s charming to see him stumbling over himself like he’s too excited to think properly. He’s unlocking the sliding glass door that leads out to a deck overlooking the lake. 

A few seconds later, they’re outside again, taking in breaths of the crisp fall air. 

“Come see the dock,” says Patrick, heading off the deck and toward the water. 

David follows him across the lawn onto a wooden dock. The world is completely still when they stop at the end. The lake is smooth and the branches of the willow trees that give the lake its name are still. 

Patrick turns to David and smiles. Davd returns it, and is pleased when Patrick very deliberately moves closer and kisses him. It’s gentle and sweet and chaste, as though Patrick is afraid David will break if he kisses him any harder. David smiles into the kiss, even moreso when Patrick grabs both his hands and squeezes. 

  
“This is really beautiful,” David says softly. “Thank you for bringing me here.”    
  
Patrick’s eyes are bright and he kisses David once more, a tiny little moth kiss. “I like bringing you here,” he says. “It means a lot to show you all this.”

David nods. 

His family’s counterpart to this cottage, the Hamptons home they bought when David was twelve, had exactly zero percent of the warmth and joy this place holds. It had been impeccably decorated and had eight bedrooms, but David has come to realize recently that it somehow never felt like home, even though it had often been filled with people. There’s a big part of him that aches for something like this place, where nothing matches but no one cares, and everyone feels at home.

Patrick squeezes his hands once more before leading him back up the dock to shore. 

“I have to show you the fort,” he says, and David follows him to a copse of willow and evergreen trees back behind the house. Patrick spreads his arms out wide.

“Like it?” he asks, and David looks around, afraid he missed something; all he sees is trees. 

Then he notices big sticks lying around that were put there deliberately, maybe by a curly-haired little boy and his cousins years ago.   
  
“I know it’s just trees, but it used to be one of my favorite places in the world,” Patrick says. “We used to rebuild it every year, and sometimes we’d get in trouble for not letting Alison play with us because she was the only girl. One time we all climbed the trees and our moms sent our lunches up in a bucket tied to a jump rope.” 

As David smiles at the stories, Patrick moves closer and kisses him again, still chaste, still sweet. Patrick laces their fingers together as he leads David out of the trees.

“Looks like the next generation is taking up the fight,” says Patrick, nodding toward a stick with a piece of cardboard duct-taped to it, reading  _ Only 7 or older. No litle kids. _

“Here’s the fire pit,” says Patrick, gently pulling David over to it. “One time, I sprained my wrist because I fell asleep and fell off the bench. And we always could hear our parents out here having way too much fun after we were put to bed, and then when I grew up, I realized it was because they were drinking.”

That’s a feeling David can relate to, and he laughs. Patrick laughs too, the sound echoing through the trees like bells, and pulls him in. 

By now, David’s not surprised at the gentle kiss he receives before Patrick lets go. The cold air has put roses into Patrick’s cheeks, and David strokes them. 

“I love this,” he says, and the look Patrick gives him makes his stomach flutter. 

“Me too,” Patrick says, and kisses David once more. 

Slowly they make their way back to the car to grab their things, and David feels a rush of warmth when they enter the house again. It already smells familiar. He drops his bags in the room Patrick had said contained a pack-n-play, which disappointingly appears to be a portable baby bed. 

David hesitates before setting his bags inside it, but then does it anyway because for one, there’s no other place to set his bags in the tiny room, and two, the Givenchy sweater he packed is as precious to him as he supposes babies are to the people who want them.

Back in the living room, Patrick is inspecting the woodstove, and David can’t wait for this evening, picturing himself curled up against Patrick and having a fire in the stove. Patrick finishes whatever he was doing with the stove and turns to David.    
  
“Let me show you upstairs, and then I need your help with something,” says Patrick, grabbing David’s hand like they’re children, and pulling him toward a staircase off the kitchen. 

Upstairs is one big room with slanted ceilings and several sets of bunk beds crammed in.   
  
“This looks like a Pottery Barn production of Annie,” says David as Patrick pulls him to the front, where the entire wall is windowed from floor to peak, overlooking the lake. “Wow, this view.”

“Isn’t it great?” asks Patrick, his face shining. “This was almost always my bed, and I loved waking up to see the water.”

He indicates the bottom bunk to the right of them, now covered in a faded and pilled Frozen comforter. There’s a hand-markered sign reading JOSIE taped to the wood paneling wall, but David doesn’t have any trouble at all picturing little Patrick there. He wraps his arms around big Patrick. He’s not at all surprised now when Patrick gives him another sweet soft kiss.

What he’s not prepared for is for Patrick to whisper in his ear, “David, will you touch my dick?” 

David pulls back, sure he’s misheard. “What?”

Patrick grins. It’s the same smile he’s had plastered on his face since they got there, but now it’s tinged with naughtiness, like they’ll get in trouble. “You love touching it.”

“Well, yeah,” says David, but he still isn’t understanding why. Maybe it doesn’t matter, though, because his hand is already snaking down Patrick’s side and moving to the front of his jeans. He’s still soft, but firms up as David cups him. 

“So bunk beds make you horny?” asks David, squeezing just a little. Patrick’s eyelids had closed but they snap open.

  
“No, bunk beds don’t make me horny. You do,” he says, unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. 

“How about you tell me what’s going on?” says David, his hand already toying with the elastic of Patrick’s boxer briefs. “You’ve been treating me like a Victorian heroine since we got here.”

Roses bloom on Patrick’s cheeks again and David wants to kiss them, but he’s also very curious. He settles for mouthing them gently while Patrick clears his throat.    
  
“It’s silly. But this is one of my favorite places in the world, and I brought Rachel here when we were teenagers, and that was fine, but I…” he trails off, and David smiles as he finishes kissing Patrick’s cheek. 

“You wanted to make some replacement memories?” supplies David, following his hunch. He pulls back just enough to see Patrick’s rueful smile.    
  
“I mean, yeah,” says Patrick. “I just… kissing someone on the dock in the mist is really romantic, and I’d like to remember doing that with someone I’m in love with, and not doing it with someone I’m in like with, only because I think I should.”

“Makes sense to me, and you are very adorable,” says David, still playing with the elastic of Patrick’s underwear. “So let me get this straight. You had three very sweet kisses outside and a handjob up here?”

“If you’re being crass. It was very romantic, David, a quick make-out session and rushed handjob because we were finally alone for ten minutes and were scared we were going to get caught. She wasn’t supposed to be up here, but we snuck up anyway.”

“So hot,” replies David, smiling into Patrick’s neck where he’s busy nibbling. He feels Patrick chuckle, a rumble up through his chest. He pulls back again. 

“I’m here to do whatever you want, honey. Let’s make some memories,” he says, and Patrick’s eyes are bright as he smiles. 

“Let’s get you on my old bed,” Patrick says, moving over to the bottom bunk. David is charmed until he looks down.

“Um. Can we not fool around on Elsa? I refuse to debase myself in front of Idina again,” he says, and Patrick flips over the Frozen comforter and sinks down on his back. 

“One teenaged handy coming your way,” says David, sinking down next to him. Patrick looks sheepish but delighted, and David’s heart is bursting with fondness. 

He leans over and kisses Patrick slowly, trying to ignore the stuffed sheep right by his face. It shouldn’t be weird because he once jerked off a guy in Ireland when surrounded by actual sheep nearby, but he closes his eyes anyway. 

Patrick kisses back with the slow sweetness that makes David’s knees weak. David opens his mouth a little and bites gently at Patrick’s lips, sliding his tongue onto Patrick’s. David feels Patrick gasp a little, his hips bucking up. 

This excruciating slowness seems to be doing a number on both of them, because David’s hard already, even though they’ve barely started kissing and there are literal toys next to him, and not the sexy kind. 

His mind flashes to a quote he’s always liked, that a whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and he supposes it’s true, because while he loves breaking this delicious process down to discrete steps, putting them all together into one writhing, panting, sexy-as-fuck Patrick is so much better.

He and Patrick settle in for some good old-fashioned Frenching, and judging from the noises Patrick is making, he’s enjoying himself very much. David slides his hand down Patrick’s chest to his underwear, gently resting his hand on Patrick’s erection. Patrick gasps into his mouth and David can’t help smiling through his kisses; he loves this, loves seeing and feeling his always-in-control Patrick lose a little bit of control.

He pulls away, breathing hard, though not as hard as Patrick. David tugs at the elastic of Patrick’s boxer briefs and Patrick raises his ass enough so David can slide them halfway down his thighs. 

“You wanted this,” David says, spitting into his hand and bringing it down to Patrick’s cock as Patrick laughs. David puts a stop to that pretty quickly as he kisses Patrick again and starts to stroke. 

Patrick’s breathing grows more ragged, so David moves his mouth to Patrick’s ear, gently biting his earlobe.

“You know, I bet if I’d come here when we were younger, I’d have been allowed to be up here,” he says in a low voice into Patrick’s ear. Patrick’s breath hitches, so David continues. “I’d have crawled into your bed with you, and we’d have tried to be quiet so no one would know what we were doing.”

Patrick’s hips buck up again and David increases his rhythm, keeping his grip loose, knowing what will make Patrick wild. 

“I’d have been so in love with you,” whispers David, and gratifyingly, that’s what causes Patrick to arch his back and let out a guttural moan, coming all over his t-shirt and David’s hand. 

He locks eyes with Davd again. “I’d have loved you too,” he says, and David smiles as he kisses his husband. “I mean, in a universe where we actually would’ve crossed paths.”

David thinks there must be some universe where that could’ve happened, where he would’ve felt at home in a place like this, having a teenage experience that didn’t involve gratuitous amounts of drugs and getting caught in a compromising position with Thora Birch in a poolhouse by his dad’s assistant.

He wants nothing more than to snuggle with Patrick, but his handful of come has a higher priority. He looks around, and Patrick seems to know what he needs before he even says anything. 

“There’s a box of tissues over there,” he says, and David finds it.    
  
“I’m  _ very  _ sorry you got semen all over your Blue Jays t-shirt and won’t be able to wear it anymore this weekend,” he says, wiping the come off his hands and avoiding the blank gaze of the Elsa doll he really should have had Patrick turn around. Patrick smiles. 

“Was the H.J. appropriately teenagery for you?” asks David. Patrick laughs as he heaves himself inelegantly off the bunk. 

“I mean, if we wanted to get it truly accurate, you’d start venting about how mean your boss at the ice cream shop is, and how you can’t stand that Michaela Brandt keeps flirting with me,” Patrick says, pulling his underwear and jeans back up.

“Michaela Brandt has great taste,” says David. Patrick smiles and crosses over to him. 

“I love you, David,” he says, looking at David with saucer eyes, and David’s knees are weak again, from love and not just because he’s hungry.

Patrick kisses the corner of his mouth that David likes to tuck in. “Thank you for indulging me. You make me feel good about everything.”

David’s embarrassed because he doesn’t feel like he did anything much besides give a perfunctory handjob, the likes of which he’s done a thousand times, and yet never done before. 

“Of course,” he says, and he knows Patrick means it. “You make me feel good about everything too.”

Patrick’s smile is fond as he gives David one more kiss. 

“Let’s go eat,” he says, and David watches him take one more glance out the window before he flips the Frozen comforter back in place. 

David can’t bring himself to throw out jizzy tissues in a bedroom belonging to children, so he carries them downstairs, following Patrick down the narrow staircase. 

He washes his hands in the ancient bathroom, listening to the plumbing thump, and when he walks back into the main room again, Patrick’s looking at him with such love on his face that David thinks he could live in this moment forever. 

David crosses to his husband. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he says for the second time that afternoon. He hopes Patrick knows what he’s putting into those words, knowing that Patrick has complicated feelings about his own teenage experiences and keeping a part of himself from his family, and bringing David to this place that’s so important. 

Patrick’s kiss tells David he understands, and they stand there for a moment, Patrick’s head tucked onto David’s shoulder, David’s mouth and nose buried in the short hair on the back of Patrick’s head, two pieces of a puzzle that never want to come apart. 

The sun is sinking behind a cloud outside, and tendrils of pink and orange are lining the sky. The lake is still and gray now, and David never wants to move, feeling the warm weight of Patrick against him and looking at the quiet outdoors. 

He feels Patrick sigh and pull away slightly. 

“Hungry?” Patrick asks, leaning in to kiss David’s dimple, and David nods. 

“Very. I got a workout giving a super sexy handjob on a bunk bed.”

Patrick grins. “It was all I ever wanted, David.”

David’s still grinning as Patrick goes to the kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling things out. David loves the ease at which Patrick moves around, knowing exactly where to find a plastic colander, a battered aluminum saucepan. David would have been more than happy to have brought carryout or something they could just warm up, but he gets the sense that Patrick needs to do this, needs to root around in the cupboard for jarred spaghetti sauce and a box of pasta because that’s how it’s always been, even though he’s been away for so long.

Patrick pulls out a tube of biscuit dough from the fridge and checks the date on it. David startles a little when he pops it, because he’s only ever seen one opened once before, and Stevie will never let him down. He hopes Patrick didn’t notice.

“I hated that sound when I was a kid,” says Patrick. Of course he noticed. “It’s like a terrible jack-in-the-box.” 

David watches him place the little dough discs on a cookie sheet. “But a jack-in-the-box you get to eat after 12 minutes, ” he replies, and Patrick smiles. 

David glances outside. “I’m going to go out for a few minutes,” he says, and Patrick beams even more brightly.    
  
“No problem, I’ll have everything ready soon,” he says as David crosses to the sliding glass door facing the lake. 

Outside, there’s a nip in the air. David cuts through the chill as he heads for the dock again. It’s so quiet. He takes a deep breath and just stands there, listening to the gentle rustle of the leaves on the trees, watching the tiniest ripple of wind on the water. 

He thinks about all the money he’d wasted on wellness retreats trying to capture this feeling that just hangs in the air here. It’s almost like you can't buy tranquility, he thinks ruefully.

When he finally tears himself from the simple quiet, he turns back and sees the orange glow out of the cottage’s many windows, and silently makes his way back toward his dinner and his husband. 

He’s met with a blast of warmth as he enters the house again, and it smells like tomato sauce and biscuits. It feels so homey and David smiles at his husband, who is setting out plates and wine glasses.

“Want to do the wine?” asks Patrick, and David takes the corkscrew from him.

“We’ve had these dishes forever,” Patrick says, serving up helpings of spaghetti and biscuits on each plate before handing one to David. 

“Crazy Daisy,” says David, looking at the pattern and remembering the month he spent in Massachusetts with Renata, who had an appreciation for mid-century dishware and an even bigger appreciation of the drugs David could supply. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I’m not surprised. Corelle lasts forever.”

“Table or couch?” asks Patrick, and David sees that he already started a fire in the woodstove.    
  
“Couch,” says David. They can bask in the warmth of the stove and watch the last bit of color fade from the sky.

“Good choice,” says Patrick, leading the way to the couch that faces the lake and stove. David sets his wine glass on the coffee table and sinks into the couch, and god, it’s so comfortable. There’s zero lumbar support but he doesn’t even care. This feels decadent. 

“You want music?” asks Patrick as they eat, and David considers for a second before shaking his head. “This is nice,” he says, and Patrick nods.    
  
“I’ve never heard it this quiet here,” he says, taking a bite of spaghetti. “Even when everyone else was asleep, you could always hear snoring, or one of the dogs would be up, prowling around.”

“That sounds… nice,” says David, which makes Patrick laugh. 

“It was a lot, but it was all I knew. I never realized people had big cottages til I was in high school. I thought everyone just crammed themselves into places like this,” Patrick says. 

“In our Hamptons house, the entire third floor was mine,” says David. “I think your version is better.”

Patrick reaches over and rests his hand on David’s knee. “There’s room for both versions,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to give up all your memories or experiences just because I don’t have them, too.”

David feels a lump in his throat, and it’s not from the doughy biscuit he just swallowed. Patrick almost always uncannily knows what to say. 

“I know,” David says, taking a decidedly un-classy swig of wine. “I just sometimes forget how differently we both lived for so long.”

“The way I look at it, I don’t care what happened, because it all led us to this moment,” Patrick says, his eyes bright over the rim of his wine glass. 

“God, you always know the right thing to say,” says David, shaking his head. “You’re amazing.”

Patrick smiles. “I really am,” he says, and David laughs, because of course that’s the right thing to say.

He feels loose and easy and full of carbs. He sets down his empty plate and settles back into the couch. “Tell me more about here,” he says.

Patrick grins as he gathers their empty plates and silverware, walking them back to the kitchen sink. 

“That’s a big ask. Uh, apparently I was conceived here? And my very first memory is of being here,” he says from the kitchen. 

He comes back with the bottle of wine and refills their glasses as he talks. “My first memory is of taking a nap in that bedroom over there. I remember how the bars of my crib looked.”

“Wow,” says David. “I don’t think I remember anything from before I was five? I remember refusing to wear my new school uniform in kindergarten because it was red, and even then, I knew red didn’t work with my skin tone.”

“Mine might be better described as a picture, more than a memory,” says Patrick, settling closer to David on the couch. “But I definitely remember the view from in the crib, so I had to have been younger than two.”

“When Alexis was two, she modeled for Michael Kors’ 1989 children’s collection and puked on his shoes,” says David. “Different lives.”

“Different lives then, same life now,” says Patrick leaning in to press a kiss to David’s cheek. 

David can feel himself flushing happily, but it might be the wine. He never gets tired of being reminded that this man has happily joined his own life with David’s, and he’s suddenly thinking again about the sum of these parts. 

“You’re nice,” he says, nestling his head on Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick slides his arm around David and they just sit for a moment, watching the fire through the woodstove door. 

David feels Patrick’s lips in his hair, kissing his head, a gentle series of little presses. He turns his face toward Patrick, and the kisses move slowly down his face until Patrick’s lips are on his. 

They kiss gently, their rhythm keeping time with the slow crackle of the fire, and Patrick traces a pattern on David’s arm, the feeling intensifying until his nipples are hard under his sweater and his breathing is a little more ragged. He breathes into Patrick’s mouth, which opens. David feels the delicious slide of Patrick’s tongue onto his, and now Patrick’s other hand is on David’s chest.

Their kissing is still excruciatingly gentle, and it’s all David wants in the world, until Patrick’s hand drifts back and forth over his nipples, making David whimper into Patrick’s mouth. Each nerve feels like it’s on fire, and he can feel himself getting hard just from this, a fact he marvels at.

Patrick’s hand finally slides down his stomach, and David arches up into Patrick’s touch as his hand covers David’s cock. He’s never been more thankful to be wearing drawstring pants, as Patrick deftly unties them. David moves his pelvis off the couch as Patrick slides them down over his ass.

It’s clumsy and so hot, and David whimpers again as Patrick’s fingers dip into his boxer briefs, sliding them down, too. 

Patrick pulls away to bring his hand to his mouth. He spits in it and winks at David, who grins widely and leans back in to kiss his husband. Patrick’s hand on his aching cock is everything, and David moans as Patrick starts slowly jerking him off. It’s a practiced rhythm; Patrick knows exactly what he needs. The intense feelings of the day have built up inside him, and before he realizes it, he’s keening into Patrick’s mouth and coming hard into Patrick’s fist. 

He pulls away from Patrick’s kiss, gasping and panting. “I thought you might like that,” Patrick says in a gravelly voice, but his smile betrays him.    
  


“That was amazing,” says David, and Patrick looks very pleased with himself. “I’m surprised I came that fast.”

“I’m surprised you were able to come at all after all that spaghetti and wine,” says Patrick, heaving himself off the couch and going to wash his hands. 

“Please. If I wasn’t able to come after a heavy meal, I literally never would and I’d be a walking bag of semen and people would cross the street to avoid me,” David calls over the back of the couch as he slides his underwear and pants back up.    
  
“You’re a verbal artist, you know that?” calls Patrick from the bathroom. “Your mother would be proud!”

“Please don’t bring up my mother while you’re washing my come off your hands?” David calls as Patrick leaves the bathroom, and Patrick rakes his hands through David’s hair gently as he passes behind the couch.

David doesn’t feel like moving. He’s satiated in every sense of the word, feeling agreeably heavy against the couch cushions. He registers Patrick moving around, but can’t move to see what he’s doing. It’s only a moment later that Patrick returns to the couch, but David’s eyes are already heavy. 

“I brought you this,” says Patrick, and David opens his eyes to see Patrick fluttering a knitted afghan down over David’s lap. He sets down another bottle of wine and David sees that he also has two books tucked under his arm; he can see the mystery Patrick’s reading, and the thick fiction book he’s reading himself.    
  
“I figured maybe we could do a reading night. I figured you’d want the book you brought, unless you want to read Ramona Quimby, Age 8 or a bunch of Reader’s Digests from 1988,” says Patrick, settling on the couch and handing David his book. 

“First, I will not have you slander Ramona. And second, this is perfect,” says David, and it is.

“I must be getting old, because this is all I want, instead of getting secretly drunk in the fort and trying not to fall in the campfire,” Patrick says, and David smiles, holding out his glass.

Patrick pours them each another glass of wine and David takes a sip of the velvet red as he snuggles under the afghan. Patrick arranges himself under another afghan and their feet tangle under both blankets. 

David had never known what the phrase “companionable silence” meant before he met Patrick, but now, it’s one of his favorite things about their relationship. Every so often they’ll have a quiet reading night with no music or tv or phones, just the sounds of their fireplace or Mona. David has never known anyone he could just sit and read with, but it’s just one of the thousand ways the universe shows him that Patrick is meant for him, and he for Patrick. 

The woodstove crackles and pages turn, and every so often David glances up to look at his husband. Every few glances, Patrick is doing the same thing, and they reward each other with a smile and a nudge of the foot. 

Slowly, slowly the words start to swim on the page, and David feels a nudge on his foot. He opens his eyes. 

“Want to go to bed?” asks Patrick, smiling from across two books, two pairs of knees and two afghans. David doesn’t really want this to end, but also a bed sounds luxurious.

He brushes, cleanses and moisturizes in the bathroom, and by the time he’s out, Patrick has the bedroom lamp on and the covers drawn. The sheets are so old that Renata would’ve swooned over them, but David doesn’t care. He slides between them and pulls the comforter up to his chin. It’s deliciously chilly in the room, and his body heat warms the bed as he waits for Patrick to finish in the bathroom. 

Patches of light disappear as Patrick turns out the lamps and lights in the main room. The bedside lamp is the last to go as Patrick climbs into bed. 

“Thank you,” says David, not specifying what for, or even knowing if he could specify what for. In the darkness, he feels Patrick’s lips press against his face and move along to his lips for a sweet goodnight kiss.

“I love you, David. I’m so happy you’re here,” whispers Patrick in the dark, and David can feel him curling up, fitting himself to David; a practiced move.

“I love you, too,” whispers David back, pressing a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck. “I’m so happy I’m here, too.”

He falls asleep like that, hugging Patrick close to him and breathing the atmosphere that just radiates his husband’s love and family and past. 

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up and Patrick will be making pancakes, and they’ll take a walk and skip stones in the lake (well, Patrick will skip stones; David will sink stones), and when he turns to take one last look at the cottage, David will see the  _ Andersonville: Established 1954 _ sign looks recently smudged, and the  _ Population: 36  _ now reads  _ Population: 37 _ , and he’ll press a kiss to Patrick’s temple and realize that he’s never been happier in his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> I started this last November and finally, finally finished it, after writing it in fits and starts. I loved writing this!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
